


back here again

by smolsicky



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: De-Serumed Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, You Decide, sick!Steve, this could be slash or it could just be guys being pals, this is a little angstier than i'm accustomed to, this is totally me projecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20655968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolsicky/pseuds/smolsicky
Summary: Steve is de-serumed in battle and promptly catches the flu. Tony flips out, but tries to pretend he’s not because he’s got to keep that charade of nonchalance going. Steve also says some things about being chronically ill that may or may not have to do with my own health at the moment.





	back here again

“Bruce is going to figure it out. It’s fine.” Steve kept repeating it, over and over again. Every time he coughed, every time a wheeze escaped his frail chest. 

“It’s fine.”

Tony almost believed him. Then Steve spiked a fever, and Tony remembered that sometimes even Captain America could lie with the best of them. 

He hadn’t been able to sleep, had only gone downstairs with the intention of making a cup of coffee and visiting Bruce to see how the re-seruming of Steve Rogers was going, when he heard a rattling cough from the living room. 

“Steve? Steve, is that you?” He slid into the dark room, looking around. He didn’t see anyone. A barking cough came from the couch.

“Lights to thirty percent,” Tony said, quickly moving around the couch to see Steve. When the lights went up, he almost gasped aloud. 

Steve sat up from where he’d been curled up in a ball. His skin was milk white, except for a high flush that ran across his cheeks and nose. His eyes were damp, just like his brow. Now that he was a little closer to him, Tony could hear every breath rattling in Steve’s chest, like a train thundering down its tracks. He was so… small. Tony normally wasn’t particularly of the care-taking type, but Steve’s too big sweater and sad eyes made something in him wrinkle up with a need to hug him. Steve sniffled a little, and in his fevered-haze lifted his sweater sleeve to wipe his nose. It was a familiar periwinkle, bringing out his eyes. Tony blinked.

“Is that my sweater? I’m going to have to burn that thing now that you’ve contaminated it!” Tony’s bravado shook as he sank to his knees beside the couch to see him better.

“Haven’t contaminated it. S’fine,” Steve mumbled, his eyelids fluttering. They were so pale he could see every vein that ran through them, and Tony’s heart tugged. He gingerly lifted his wrist to Steve’s forehead, wincing at the heat.

“I could probably fry an egg on your forehead. That’s how high your fever is right now.”

“Don’t have a fever,” Steve grumbled, standing up from the couch. The blanket hung off his thin frame, almost toppling him. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Tony reached for him, tried to get him to sit down, but it turned out that Steve was just as stubborn at 95 pounds as he was at 220. He jutted out his chin, wobbling a little bit. 

“I’m fine. Bruce will fix it.” On the last word, Steve’s voice broke and he started coughing, almost tumbling forward. Tony gently reached out and held his shoulders, just enough to keep him steady.

“I know. You’re right. You’re fine and Bruce is going to fix it. Please just sit down. You’re swaying on your feet right now.”

Steve blinked at him mulishly before slowly sitting back down on the couch and glaring up at him. 

Okay, Tony thought. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Alright. Where’d you put the inhaler that medical gave you?”

Steve sighed, his lungs crackling like Pop Rocks. “It’s in the kitchen.” 

“Well, I’m going to go get it, okay? Just stay here a second.” 

Steve wasn’t looking at Tony anymore, he was looking just past him. 

“Okay.”

Tony reached out to touch him, to pat his hand or something, but thought better of it and hurried off to the kitchen. The moment he got there he whispered, “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes?” The female voice rang out through the kitchen, and Tony flinched. 

“Jeez, lower the volume, would’ya? I need you to tell Bruce that Steve is in the living room and he is really sick. Tell him he’s running a fever and I need him to come up here right now.”

There was a brief pause. 

“He’s on his way.”

Tony gave a sigh of relief and seized the inhaler from the counter. 

When he got back, Steve was crying. Fuck.

“Steve! Steve, Steve, what’s wrong?” Tony frantically sat down on the couch next to him, wrapping his arms around him without hesitation. He could feel Steve’s ribs through the sweater, could feel every shuddering breath and the way it racked his frail frame. 

“I hate this. I hate being this way.” Steve’s voice was no more than a whisper. “It was bad enough when I didn’t know what it was like to be strong. But now I know. Now I know how it feels to be able to breathe properly, and how it is to take care of people and not be a burden. And now I’m back here again. Tony, I can’t do this again.”

Tony bit his lip so hard he tasted a little bit of blood. He was not equipped for this. What was he supposed to do?

He settled for rubbing Steve’s back, and calmly and softly speaking in his ear. 

“You’re not a burden. You never could be. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

Tony stayed that way for a while, rocking Steve back and forth, until he heard a sleepy snuffle and looked down. Steve had fallen asleep curled up in his arms. Tony closed his eyes for a minute and just sat there. 

A throat was cleared from the doorway. Tony’s eyes shot open.

“Is he alright?” Bruce whispered, brandishing a needle and a nebulizer from his respective hands. 

Tony looked down at Steve’s blond bed-head. 

“No. No, he’s not.”


End file.
